


The Tale of the Man and the Fox

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Happy Ending, Hashirama loves Madara, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Lost and Found, M/M, Madara loves Hashirama as well, Memory Loss, Yôkai, bit of angst, he is just not very good with emotions alright?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: As a young boy of twelve, Hashirama had a secret friend. He met him by the river - his usual hiding place from his father and the elders of his clan. Hashirama knew what Madara was, of course. Madara was a boy, his best friend. Yes, he was a Yōkai who took on a human form, but that didn’t matter as it should have.The tale of Hashirama, a renowned Yōkai Hunter and his love for the creature he is supposed to hunt.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 44
Kudos: 149
Collections: Fics where the writing is chef's kiss





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was driven by two needs when writing this story: 1. Yōkai Madara and 2. Writing my favourite kind of Hashirama – the one who is stupidly, irrationally in love with Madara. And maybe a third, wanting to try out a fairy-tale-ish style.
> 
> I must warn you that my “knowledge” of Japanese folklore comes from watching anime and reading Wikipedia articles, so I took quite a lot of liberties here.
> 
> This was supposed to be a light little oneshot, but it got out of hand and grew to 20K words. I’m breaking it into four parts to ease editing and will be posting it over the next couple of days, before works gets busy again in the new year. 
> 
> PS After swearing I told all the stories I had about Hashirama and Madara in me *years ago*, here I go again. My grandmother was right: never swear.

There is a tale you have likely heard if you travelled through Land of Fire. People will tell it anywhere from the border of Land of Grass to the remote Land of Whirlpools. It is about a Yōkai and a man who wandered the country, but as with most myths, it will vary depending who recounts it. Some will say the Yōkai was a powerful being, who enslaved the man. Others will claim the exact opposite - that the mortal was a sage of mighty spiritual power and the Yōkai was his servant. Those of a more romantic heart will prefer the version that insists they travelled as equals, bonded by a deep sense of friendship and love. 

They all agree that these two beings brought peace and prosperity. They helped men in need, soothed disputes, placated Kami in unrest, chased away evil demons, making the land a safer and happier place to live in.

The tales tell little of who they really were, what they dreamed of and what they feared. Did they love and did they hate? Did they have hopes and regrets? They must have, for all men and spirits do.

This is not the tale of their wanderings or their mythical deeds. I will leave that to those of more elaborate speech. You can listen to the songs and the poets. This is a simpler story, one of dreams, losses and love. This is the story of Hashirama and Madara.

***

As a young boy of twelve, Hashirama had a secret friend. He met him by the river - his usual hiding place from his father and the elders of his clan. A decade has passed since, but he still remembers crying - his youngest brother died a horrible, senseless death the day before. Itama was too young to mess around with the Yōkai _,_ yet he did, under no small pressure from their family to grow strong and useful. Hashirama chased the evil spirits away, saving the body from being torn apart, but he couldn’t save his life. 

Hashirama was sitting on a rock by the river, free to cry there with his father nowhere nearby to see him and tell him to stop being a child. He was a child, even if he already made a name for himself with defeating a group of Oni _,_ these stinking, hulking beasts of ogre that were threatening a small village in the mountains. He was a child, so he wanted to be able to freely cry, to mourn the loss of another brother. 

The boy approached him and comforted him. No, that’s not quite right. The boy approached him as he was annoyed with Hashirama occupying what he claimed to be _his_ spot. He asked why Hashirama was crying there by himself, and he understood. He said he lost his brothers as well, save for one. 

The face and the name of this boy has been taken away from Hashirama, but he stubbornly clings to his remaining memories. He can still recall that first time they met. He remembers countless meetings afterwards, even if his memories are broken and fragmented. He spent so many nights trying to piece them together, desperate not to lose what little he was allowed to retain of his friend.

He remembers racing through the forest, climbing trees and rock, skipping stones. He remembers laughter and serious discussions. He remembers hopeful, childish dreams. He remembers sitting at the edge of the cliff, pointing down at the valley.

“You and I,” he is sure he told his mysterious friend, “One day we are going to build our house on that clearing and live there together.” 

The other boy laughed at him and called him a fool, but there was hope in his eyes.

Hashirama remembers those dark eyes that were almost human, but not quite. He will remember them on his deathbed, even if he can’t recall the rest of that beloved face.

Hashirama knew there was something strange about the boy, of course. His clan was renowned for their ability to fight monsters, evil spirits, the supernatural that threatened humans. Hashirama himself had been fighting them since he was seven. He wasn’t ignorant - it just simply didn’t matter that his friend was something else but a mortal man. He was a gift from the divine, a person who became precious to him.

Hashirama’s father was frantic with worry after he found out about these meetings. He said Hashirama was bewitched by the Yōkai _,_ that his feelings of friendship and love were nothing but the clever trick of a mischievous spirit. That it must be a Kitsune, a fox demon or something equally alluring and dangerous. Hashirama had to endure the fearful, distrustful glances from his clan, the whispers behind his back wondering if he was still under the influence of an evil spell.

His father put an end to those with making Hashirama undergo several cleansing rituals. His memories were stripped away from him one by one. The knowledge of a name, the sweet pain of remembering a precious face were sealed away. He could only keep some fragmented images as he lied to his father, claiming they all went up with the smoke of the ritual incense. 

Almost a full year passed before Hashirama could go back to their usual spot at the riverside, when he could be sure he wasn’t suspected or followed. He went back week by week, but the boy never came again. 

He hoarded his scrap of memories close to his heart, along with his feelings of love and longing. He made a quiet oath to himself that he wouldn’t rest until one day he could meet with his friend again.

***

Ten years have passed since and Hashirama is now a grown man. He keeps his hopes and longing closed in his heart, never quite forgotten. He is a busy man by day - he’s the most sought after Yōkai hunter of their clan.

He travels a lot, depending on where he’s called. His job brings good, steady money for his clan. He loves these wonderings, seeing all the far-away lands and meeting the good people living and working hard on them.

He could never say this to anyone in his clan, but he likes many of the creatures he’s supposed to fight, too. Yes, there are malevolent ones who he has to chase away by force, bind them or destroy their physical selves. But most often than not, they are just some mischievous things, curious or lonely, beings who drifted too close to humans. Hashirama talks to them, lures them away from villages, finds a new place for them to stay without causing further fear or trouble. 

He asks all of them about the boy, but with him remembering so little, even the most helpful ones just shake their heads, unable to help. Hashirama doesn’t give up.

When he’s not on the road, he’s home with his family. His father’s health has declined over the years and he spends most of his time sitting on the porch, writing correspondence or reading poetry. He loves to hear Hashirama retelling his adventures. He hints that he hopes to live long enough to meet his grandchildren. Hashirama smiles and tells him they both have plenty of time, but he can’t see himself marrying. The thought of committing to a woman sits oddly with him. When he tries to imagine it, this future wife of his, all he can see are dark, large eyes that are not quite human. 

Maybe his brother will marry before him. Tobirama is only twenty, but with their father becoming so fragile and Hashirama being away so frequently, he is practically leading their clan already. He is a very competent Hunter, but he doesn’t like to leave their village too much, to go amongst people who don’t know him.   
  


Hashirama can’t blame him. Shortly after birth, an evil spirit tried to steal his little brother away. Their father defeated it and reclaimed the baby, but only after his colours were already stripped away. He grew up with pale skin, with hair while and soft as freshly fallen snow. His eyes turned crimson and he wears three permanent, red markings on his face where the wicked creature grasped him. 

He grew up with hate for all things otherworldly. He had to endure being feared and ridiculed by people for his looks. He watched their younger brothers getting killed by vengeful spirits. It is just fuel to the fire of his loathing that he is often mistaken for a Yōkai himself. Hashirama and he often fights the most powerful, most malevolent creatures together, just to have people thank Hashirama only, mistaking Tobirama for a demon he subjugated to do his bidding.

Hashirama loves his little brother, but there are many things he can’t say to him. Tobirama knows he avoids fighting or wounding the Yōkai when he can, but he doesn’t understand it. He thinks it’s a weakness, he thinks it’s dangerous and worries for Hashirama. Gruff and rude as his demeanour can be, he does a lot of worrying and looking after his older brother. Hashirama does his best not to trouble him, so it’s absolutely unthinkable to tell him about his dreams. If Tobirama knew he still dreamt about the boy on the riverbank, of dark eyes and laughter, if he knew how Hashirama longed for his long-lost companion, he’d be scared for him. He’d insist Hashirama to undergo further rituals to exorcise any remaining demonic power over him, and Hashirama can’t have that. He can’t lose what little he still remembers. 

***

Hashirama hates winters. The snow usually falls too early and too thick, covering everything in an eerie silent blanket. He likes a busy and noisy town or the birdsong of a summer forest. There’s little for him to do after the first snow. Roads become too dangerous, so nobody comes to fetch him for a job. He spends the winter months in the village, feeling restless like a caged animal. He chops firewood and sweeps the snow away twice a day, so at least they have a small training ground to spar on with his brother. The clash of their swords and the sweat he works up makes the idle time after nightfall a little more bearable.

He hates the cold, the darkness and the silence. Villagers gather in their family home once a week to listen to him tell stories of his travels. Hashirama likes these nights. He always ignores Tobirama’s disapproving frown and drinks too much sake. He tells the people all about the places he visited, a busy port, a peaceful village, even the capital. He exaggerates, grinning, winking, and people laugh with him, even Tobirama. 

“And the women there, my friends,” he boasts as he knows this is what his audience wants to hear. “That town has the most beautiful women I have ever seen. They dress lightly and colourfully, but if you are a fool and let your hand wander, thinking they are easy enough, you are in for a surprise! For these women are fighters and all of them have a knife up their sleeves. You have to win them with praises and presents and if they decide to spend the night with you, you will have the most spectacular time of your life.”

Or so Hashirama was told. He doesn’t seek out the company of women, but he spares his kinsmen this little detail. He doesn’t tell stories about his encounters with young, dark haired and dark eyed men, the fiery passion they ignite in him and the bitter disappointment he always feels when they part. Hashirama absolutely doesn’t say anything about who he’s longing for, who he is searching for in these men when he stumbles to bed with them.

The villagers don’t need to know anything about this. They jeer and cheer him on as his stories become more and more indecent with the sake he drinks. Tobirama rolls his eyes and no doubt, Hashirama will have to listen to his scolding tomorrow morning about how he should set a better example for their clan, that he is the strongest, the one everyone looks up to, and should behave accordingly. Hashirama will nod and agree and suffer through his hangover. It’s still worth it, this night will make this horrible winter a bit more bearable. 

***

Just as every winter before, this one comes to an end as well. Spring takes pity on Hashirama and arrives early. The snow melts and the bravest of the flowers break their way through the still-cold ground. His father’s health improves with the good weather and he picks up his correspondence, reaching out to his contacts to see if they know anyone in need of a Hunter. The first jobs of the year are easy ones, some minor spirits causing small ruckus, overjoyed by the spring. 

Other clan members handle these - Hashirama only goes on a mission to chase a Kappa _,_ who took residence in the garden lake of the Spring Palace of the Lord of Fire Country, away. Handling the green little trickster is a routine job - Hashirama arrives with plenty of cucumber, an irresistible treat for the water imp, and lures the creature out of the pond. The soldiers of the Daimyo stand ready, but he shoos them away. Kappas are harmless enough if one knows how to deal with them. He spends his afternoon convincing it that the river running at a safe distance from the palace is a much better dwelling place. It takes many cucumbers, but the creature is thankful for his help in the end.

So is the Daimyo. He’s rewarded generously for such a small effort and is invited to stay in the palace for the night. The younger son of the feudal lord then invites him to his room and Hashirama spends long hours with him, vigorously getting rid of his pent-up energies from winter. All in all, it’s the perfect start of the year. 

***

The messenger arrives when the cherry trees are already in bloom. He is tired and battered, having left his village in the first days of spring and arriving weeks later at the Hunters’ village. He has a good reason for his long travel.

“The whole forest on the hill is in a turmoil,” he tells Hashirama’s father. “The Mononoke _,_ they are all at unrest. People who were still out in the forest after sunset started to disappear. We hear strange voices in the night when trying to sleep. Things go missing. Children have fallen sick with mysterious diseases. Our Miko did her best, but couldn’t pacify the spirits, so she had sent for you. You are known even on our far away land. Please come to our aid. We are a poor village, but we will pay you back with what little we have.”

This is a job for Hashirama. Excited, he goes to pack for the journey as his father negotiates the price. 

“Will you be alright on your own?” Tobirama asks him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “It sounds as if more is going on there than some Jami waking up in a bad mood during the winter.”

“I’ll be fine, brother,” Hashirama reassures him. “It might be more than some Mountain Spirit causing a ruckus, but I have my sword, I have the seals you have made, I have the incense and the scrolls. I am prepared.”

“I know you are,” Tobirama sighs, still looking worried. “Just don’t take these things too lightly. Don’t let your guard down.”

“I won’t,” Hashirama promises cheerfully, excited to be on the road again soon. 

***

The journey to Uzushiogakure is a long one. They often walk in heavy rain, on roads slippery with mud. Hashirama would progress faster on his own. His guide, Kamizuki-san is a simple man, not used to such exercises. He’s quite intimidated by Hashirama at first, his height and bulk of muscles just as much as his occupation. But Hashirama is nothing if not friendly and good natured - he wins the trust of others easily. It only takes a night in a small tavern, telling funny stories that happened to him on his travels and the next day he’s calling the rather hangover villager Izumo-kun, and offering to carry his pack as well so he can walk more freely.

In exchange he learns a lot about Izumo-kun’s best friend, Kotetsu-san. He learns so much about Kotetsu-san in fact that he starts to suspect his guide might have similar preferences for partners as he does. It seems the two of them never parted before, having both been born and grown up in their remote village and Izumo-kun is rather frantic for not seeing him for so long for the first time in his life. Hashirama likes these stories. He finds them romantic. He imagines Uzushiogakure must be a nice place to live in.

They take a boat once they reach the shoreline. The waters are far from being quiet and Hashirama finds himself clinging to the side plank on most of the journey, trying not to be sick. Izumo-kun and their ferryman are in their elements and don’t seem to be even slightly bothered by the jagged stones, fast currents and whirlpools they have to navigate around. The Village Hidden by Whirling Tides - Hashirama can see how it got its name. He’s very thankful to feel solid ground under his feet again. 

***

He meets the village leader and the Miko first - father and daughter as he finds. Mito-san is an intelligent, passionate young woman with a shocking shade of red hair. Hashirama instantly takes a liking to her. Her father, the head of the elder’s council, is much more reserved. His eyes are guarded and careful on Hashirama, as they tell him about the unrest on the hill.

“I suspect something happened to the Kami-sama of the hill _,”_ Mito-san says, “Our offerings were always taken from the shrines before. Now they just get spilled everywhere. There is a malicious intent in the air if you walk the forest. You can feel all those invisible eyes watching you. People who stayed out after nightfall disappeared and we never found them again. The whole spirit world is in upheaval and I found it beyond my powers to put them at rest.”

“That is why we have called for you, Hashirama-dono,” her father takes over. “Even on such a faraway land as ours, words of your power and deeds have reached. We put all of our faith in you and ask for your help. We are but poor, humble people, but we will pay you back generously within our power.”

“I think your man has already negotiated a reasonable price with my father,” Hashirama reassures him. “I’ll leave for the forest at dawn tomorrow. Pack me some food that will last a few days, if you will.”

“You are not planning to spend the night out on the hill, are you?” Mito-san gasps. “After all I’ve just told you! Father, you must not permit…”

“Mito-san,” Hashirama flashes his most winning smile at her. Most women would blush, but the young priestess just frowns at him for interrupting her. “Believe me, I’m not being reckless, but I need to investigate what’s happening on the mountain. I’ll be able to find out a lot more after nightfall than during daytime. I promise you, I’m well prepared to defend myself against the Yōkai.”

She is hardly reassured, but she doesn’t press it. She goes over all the rituals she held, all the oddities she noticed, all the frightful stories the villagers told her, arming Hashirama with knowledge. 

***

Dawn is cold and foggy, but that can’t dampen Hashirama’s mood. He has the feeling that the work on the hill will be a serious one and he’s happy about it. He likes a good challenge. The sacred places scattered at the foot of the hill are ancient. He is sure he will meet some interesting, knowledgeable creatures. Maybe, a small voice whispers in the back of his mind, he will find some clues about the boy he’s been searching for as well. He is just having a very positive hunch about the whole mission.

He spends the day walking through the forest. For an outsider it would appear he’s just wandering aimlessly, touching trees, getting off from the well-trodden paths, mumbling to himself. In truth, he’s preparing for the night. Mito-san was right - he can feel invisible eyes following his every step. He can sense the malicious intent, waiting for the opportunity to get him. He hums a little tune for himself and the air clears around him, making it easier to breath. Whoever has taken over the mountain, it must be a powerful and maleficent being. 

The priestess said something might have happened to the Kami-sama of this place and Hashirama tends to agree with her. He climbs towards the peak, although he won’t be able to reach it before nightfall. He has to get ready for a fight and hope to find out more of the Mountain God’s fate tomorrow. 

He lights a small fire and some of his incense. Tobirama prepared plenty of warding tags for him, so he ties them to a rope which he arranges around himself in a circle. He then sits down cross legged, eats his light supper and waits. 

The watchful eyes become visible after nightfall. They venture close to his protective circle, curious night animals and curious, minor spirits alike. They are not the source of the evil atmosphere that surrounds him. They appear slightly confused, directionless as they drift towards the human sitting in the grass of their forest. They stop at a respectful distance from the barrier, some of them taking solid forms, some of them remaining nothing more than a thicker wisp of air. They are all waiting for something or someone, so Hashirama waits as well. 

Excitement ripples through his otherworldly audience suddenly. They part, some of them hopping to the side, some just drifting away or appearing somewhere else suddenly. Hashirama stands up, takes a sealing tag out from his pouch and smiles. It’s not the kind, carefree and flirting smile he flashes at people. It’s a grin of a predator waiting for his prey.

A figure appears at the edge of the circle Hashirama’s fire makes. He looks like a man, dressed in plain, dark yukata tied with a wide, white obi. He wears a large gunbai, a strangely shaped war fan, on his back. Something about it seems familiar to Hashirama, but he can’t quite place where he could have seen such a weapon before. His face remains covered even as he steps up close to Hashirama’s barrier. He’s wearing a white mask adorned by symmetrical circles. It covers his head on the front and back as well. Instead of two holes for eyes as one would expect, there’s a third one on his forehead, too. Hashirama knows without doubt that this is the powerful being that causes the unrest in the forest. 

He watches as the Yōkai examines his protective circle then casts his unseen eyes on him. He awakens an uneasy feeling in Hashirama. There’s something about him that makes him think he should recognise him, while at the same time he looks alien.

“You are not from around here, are you, human?” the creature asks. His tone sounds displeased - likely he wasn’t expecting Hashirama to be so strongly protected. 

“I’m a traveller passing by,” Hashirama answers with his smile still in place. He doesn’t bother to make it a pleasant one. “I couldn’t pass the opportunity to greet the new Kami of the mountain.” The Yōkai doesn’t say anything, so he presses further. “Surely, you’ve just recently defeated the previous Lord? All of the little things,” he gestures at the small creatures gathering around the circle, watching the two of them with avid interest, “they seem wary of you still. Will take a while to recreate the peace of the mountain, won’t it? Not that I can blame you, this is a nice forest. A strong, ancient one. A perfect place for a thing like you to become a God.” 

“You talk a lot, human.” He’s a Noppera-Bō, Hashirama is almost sure of it, a faceless ghost, a shapeshifter. 

“I’m friendly by nature,” Hashirama says. “Curious as well. I’ve never seen something take the form of another being before. I’d love to witness how you do it. Did you already start to look like it? The _real_ God of this mountain?”

“I _am_ the Kami now!” the evil spirit hisses, confirming Hashirama’s suspicions. “He will be _nothing_ soon enough, not even a memory! You lot,” he addresses the low-rank creatures around him “if you still cry for him, you will be wiped out of existence as well! And you, mortal - you are a mighty one. I will devour your flesh and blood and make your strength mine.”

“Oh, little Yōkai,” Hashirama laughs. “You are welcome to try. But pose as you will, you are no Kami-sama, just a cheater, a weak imitation.”

The Noppera-Bō shrieks in indignation and attacks. The lesser spirits scatter away in panic as his gunbai sweeps the air, trying to tear Hashirama to pieces with the scorching hot and powerful air current it creates. The Hunter chants his protective words, holds the seals fast with hand signs and stands his ground. He has no intention to fight this evil spirit here tonight - he will do so on his own terms. He withstands two other attacks, watching as the Yōkai tires himself out. He waits as he curses and storms around in temper, waits until his guards are lowered.

“What is your name?” he asks then, commanding the spirit with the secret technique of his clan to obey.

He almost succeeds. The creature utters something that sounds like _Obi_ and maybe there’s a _T_ in there as well, but ultimately, he’s too strong to part with such vital information. For a moment he is doubled over and gasping for air as if he was a mere human. The next instant he disappears.

Hashirama concludes the first round of their fight ended in his favour, even if it wasn’t a definite victory. He learned a lot about his opponent. He will defeat him the next time they meet, but he must be cautious. The creature now loathes him and will come against him with everything he has.

***

He gets a few hours of sleep in his protective circle, then hits the narrow path climbing up to the hill at the crack of dawn. Kami prefer the highest places, and the presence of the old God should be the strongest near the peak. From what the Noppera-Bō said, Hashirama suspects he couldn’t defeat him fully - if he could free this previous Lord, he could be the ally he needs for his fight. It would also ensure the good will of the Kami, making the forest a safe place again for the villagers. 

The road is steep and difficult. Hashirama, despite his excellent physical condition, is out of breath by the time he reaches the cave near the peak. He doesn’t have much time to worry whether he’s at the right place as the sun is already setting. He quickly sets to prepare. He will have to face the Masked Man here. 

“Kami-sama,” he mutters, sitting down in his protective circle. “I can feel your presence still. Don’t abandon this forest. I’m here to help you. The impostor shall be defeated if we work together.”

The wind whistles around him, although he should be sheltered from it here, in this den made of rocks. It disturbs the heap of fallen leaves near the entrance, picking them up and carrying them over to Hashirama. He catches one of them, still strong and green, although it surely fell during the previous autumn. There’s a crack in the middle of it and Hashirama’s breath catches as he looks through it, and he’s not even sure why. He has to concentrate on his battle, but he puts the leaf away into one of his pouches, determined to examine his own memories, fiddled-with as they are, after he claims victory. With the support of the Lord of the Hill, his chances are good.

The Noppera-Bō appears shortly after nightfall. He is furious but he isn’t afraid. Hashirama hopes that’s because of overconfidence and not for having the upper hand. But Hashirama is a gambler. While he tends to lose on cards and dice, luck is more on his side when fighting Yōkai. He likes to think his small losses at games are his sacrifices to the Gods, who help him out when fighting mighty enemies. Tobirama always says he was simply born with more power than brains. 

He watches the Masked Man’s attacks. He wouldn’t want to be caught in that hot current his Gunbai creates. There’s a brief pause between his swings, so once Hashirama is confident he got the rhythm of it, he breaks his barrier and charges his enemy. He takes him by surprise as he smashes him against the rock wall of the cave. Hashirama’s blade flashes in the light of the small fire he had lit. It’s a flawless, sharp katana, but it wouldn’t be enough to pierce a Yōkai if not for Hashirama’s spiritual power that runs through it. He thrusts it through the Masked Man’s flesh, pinning his arm holding the Gunbai to the wall. With his free hand he smacks a tag containing a seal onto his chest, chanting the words to active it. For a moment he thinks he has already won.

The next instant he is propelled back so hard he flies across the cave. His back hits the opposite wall with a loud thud. He twists into a ball to lessen some of the impact, but air still rushes out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and immobilised for a too long second. The Noppera-Bō tears himself away from the wall quite literally - he can’t move his arm that Hashirama pierced, so he rips it off from his body, leaving it hanging pinned by the sword. He lunges at the human, the fingers of his remaining hand closing around his throat. He doesn’t so much try to strangle him than rip his windpipe off. 

Hashirama kicks him away with all his might, ignoring the pain as gloved fingers tear bleeding scars on the skin of his neck. He needs to seal this creature, but the tag obviously wasn’t strong enough to hold him. He will need to weaken him somehow first. 

They clash. Hashirama’s sword is out of the game, but so is his opponent’s Gunbai. He uses his knives, while the Masked Man uses his powers to try to steal his life-force away. It doesn’t take long for Hashirama’s vision to become blurry and his knees to buckle. He goes on by pure force of will. 

He manages to tackle the creature to the ground at long last. He struggles to plaster the sealing tag on his mask - he is weakened to the degree when the Yōkai can ward him off with only one hand. For the first time, Hashirama is unsure if he’ll get out of this fight alive. 

There’s a presence behind him, but Hashirama can’t risk looking above his shoulder. He feels more than sees a hand clasping his, helping to force back the Noppera-Bō. The piece of enchanted paper finally reaches the forehead of the mask and Hashirama starts to chant the words of sealing. The sigil glows bright, illuminating the cave but he’s suddenly frightened by the knowledge it will not be enough against this creature. He’d need his name to seal him, the name he tired, but failed to draw from him during their previous clash.

“Obito,” a deep voice says behind him and Hashirama repeats it unthinkingly.

“I seal you away, _Obito,_ seal you away with the power of your name.”

The Yōkai shrieks as he disappears in a whirlwind of images and light. Hashirama collapses on the empty, hard ground of the cave, panting for breath. Did the Kami of the hill come to his aid in the end? It steals all his remaining energy away, but he rolls onto his back and looks around.

A pair of red eyes meet his. Instead of pupils, they have a strange pattern of spinning wheels. As Hashirama watches, their crimson colour fades to black. They are large and deep and painfully familiar. Only now he can see the face as well, pale and strict and Hashirama _knows_ it, finally remembers it. The seal of his father comes undone and he gasps a name.

“Madara,” he breaths, before darkness claims him.


	2. Chapter 2

He regains consciousness slowly. First, he becomes aware of the hard floor of the cave under his back. It’s not as uncomfortable as it could be - he is fairly sure he is lying on a futon with a cover thrown over him. Which is strange, considering he should be in a cave with no comforts. He can’t quite bring himself to open his eyes to check this oddity. Even through his lowered lids, he can tell it’s no longer dark outside. The memory of his fight with the Masked Man takes its time to return. He defeated the creature in the end, didn’t he? He must have, as he’s still alive. He got help in the very end, from the Kami-sama of the hill. No, not quite. It was…

“Madara,” he says the name for the second time in ten years. He tries to sit up, but all he manages is rising up on one elbow, to look around frantically. 

There he is, sitting at a distance from him on a rock - the boy who is now a man. Hashirama feels lightheaded and it isn’t only because his life-force has been drained. He has found him. He has finally found him. 

After a decade of not being able to do so, he can finally recall his friend’s face and can see him in this man. He’d recognise him, no matter what form he takes. He is wearing a high-necked, dark shirt and dark pants. His hair is as long as Hashirama’s, just a lot more unruly. His complexion is pale, with shadows under his eyes. Hashirama doesn’t think he has seen anyone more beautiful.

“I have finally found you,” he smiles, giddy with joy.

“Have you been looking for me?” Madara tips his head to the side, his mane of dark har tumbling forward. He doesn’t move otherwise. He appears guarded and tired. 

“I’ve been looking for you all these years! I’ve come here on a mission and I didn’t even dare to hope… I’ve missed you so much. Father tried to make me forget you, but I couldn’t, not really. I kept going back to the river, hoping one day you will come again. Madara, I’m so happy…”

“You keep calling me by that name,” Madara interrupts, “and speak as if you know me, human. You were useful in defeating the Shapeshifter, but I won’t tolerate this familiarity from you.”

These words and this tone have the effect as if a bucket of cold water is poured over him. Hashirama frowns and sits up. He suddenly feels he should stand, but that might be an effort he’s unable to make at the moment. His memories are returning, but could it be that Madara has forgotten him completely? It is a very painful thought. He always imagined that the boy was missing him, probably even waiting for him somewhere. He found the man he is now - it should be a joyful reunion. 

He looks at his friend and sees a powerful Yōkai. One that is regaining his stolen power quickly. He is, just as he used to be, almost completely human in appearance, but a Hunter like Hashirama isn’t fooled. There’s a glow around him that speaks of his otherworldly might and his eyes which are just too dark and too piercing seem to look straight into Hashirama’s core. He is sitting with a straight back, not quite tense, but not relaxed either. Hashirama’s sword is lying at his feet and he holds the war fan the Masked Man fought with in one hand, a silent threat. Hashirama can now recall he had seen this weapon before - or a smaller version of it maybe - with him when they were kids. 

A smarter man than Hashirama might be considering the possibility of an attack. In his current state he doesn’t think he would be a match. He should be thinking about how to escape - only he absolutely can’t bear the idea of getting away from Madara’s presence. 

“Don’t you remember me?” he asks. 

“Why would I remember you? You, mortals, are like one other.”

“My looks have changed, but it’s me,” he says with desperation. “We are friends.”

“Friends? Don’t be absurd. Or did Obito steal your sanity as well as your vitality?”

“Madara,” dizziness be damned, Hashirama stands up. The world spins around him dangerously, but he refuses to fall to the floor again. There’s a flash of quickly masked alarm on the Yōkai’s face as he approaches him. Madara stands up as well. They are almost of equal height, Hashirama notes absently, with him being just slightly taller. 

Madara swings the gunbai when Hashirama gets close - it takes all of the Hunter’s determination not to duck it, not to even blink. The edge of the war fan brushes his neck but doesn’t hit him - Madara stops it in the last instant.

“You are mad,” Madara growls. “Don’t you realise I can crush you like you’re nothing but an annoying bug?”

“So, why don’t you?” Hashirama challenges.

“I guess I own you,” Madara shrugs. “That traitorous Shapeshifter weakened me. I would be in some trouble if you didn’t come along.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Hashirama tries to assure him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Madara narrows his eyes at him. It is probably not true - or at least he is wary of the Hunter. “We both need to regain our strength, so I guess until then we’re stuck here together. But that doesn’t mean we need to engage in some chit-chat. Go back to your side of the cave and I’ll stay here in mine.” Hashirama ignores this suggestion. 

“Have you become the Kami of this forest, Madara?” 

“I’m no Kami,” he turns his face away, that marvellous mane of dark hair falling before his eyes, obscuring his expression. “Where do you even get such an idea from?”

“The Yōkai of this hill has been in an unrest since the Noppera-Bō took over. I can already feel them settling down as he’s defeated.”

“I guess you can say I helped to maintain the balance. But this place doesn’t have a God, it hasn't had one for a long time. The humans in the valley leave the creatures here well alone. Everyone just minded their own business until that traitor toppled the tables.”

“Was he your subordinate?” Hashirama asks tentatively. “Your apprentice, maybe?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Madara sighs. He finally lowers the gunbai and sits down back on the rock. Hashirama, feeling quite wobbly, sits down in front of him on the ground cross legged. Madara’s thigh visibly twitches, making him wonder if the Yōkai is thinking about nudging him with his foot or even kicking him to keep his distance. But in the end, he just grumbles, “Why are you so damned clingy? Aren’t you supposed to hunt my kind? You are a strange one, even for a human.”

“I rarely hunt, in the strict sense of the word. I mean - the kind of Obito, yes, the ones who mean a threat for peaceful humans. I mostly just make sure our worlds don’t collide. And I said before - I would never hurt you. I’ve been looking for you all these years, and I finally found you.”

“You are an idiot, Hashirama. You know nothing about me. I’m a thousand times more dangerous than Obito ever just wished to be and…” he cuts himself short, realising his mistake too late. He glares at the human, who is grinning happily.

“So, you _do_ remember me! Madara, I missed you so much! So many things have happened - my father, he tried to seal my memories of you away, but I resisted. But I couldn’t remember so many things until I saw you again. I want to tell you… everything, really. Ten years! Maybe it wasn't a long time for you, but it was for me and…” Madara holds his hand up and Hashirama falls silent, vaguely embarrassed for blabbering so much, but mostly too excited to care. Madara remembers his name, which means he remembers _him._ He can’t be happier. 

“What difference does it make if I remember you or not?” Madara snaps. “I met you on a whim. You were… alright for a human brat, I suppose. But then you just stopped coming one day, didn’t you? Mortals are so untrustworthy. I assumed you have just forgotten me, or that maybe you just died. It proved that my kin and yours can never be friends.”

Hashirama jumps to his feet, ignoring how the cavern floor tilts dangerously under his feet.

“I never wanted to abandon you, Madara! I will never do so again, if only you let me stay by your side. I…”

“Hashirama,” the other interrupts. “Just… Shut up. _Go to sleep.”_

Too worn out to resist such a Suggestion, Hashirama closes his eyes and collapses. He never reaches the rock ground though, as wiry, strong arms catch him. “You are a real nuisance,” he hears the deep voice mutter before sleep claims him.

***

As a young boy of twelve, Hashirama had a secret friend. He met him by the river - his usual hiding place from his father and the elders of his clan. A decade has passed since, but he remembers crying and being comforted by the other boy. He remembers skipping stones, racing through the forest, climbing rocks, laughing and sharing dreams. He remembers so much now.

“I’m Hashirama,” he said to that boy. “I’m your rival in stone skipping.” “I’ve lost a brother today.” “Children shouldn’t be forced to fight.” “We could live peacefully with the Yōkai, this world is large enough for all of us.” 

“You can call me Madara,” the boy told him. “I can easily get this stone to the other shore, if I really want to.” “I have lost my brothers as well, save for one.” “Peace? Isn’t that just a childish pipedream? Humans always fight. They fight each other, they kill the animals, chop down the trees and hunt the Yōkai. They are not satisfied until they have destroyed everything.”

Hashirama isn’t sure what he said to that. Probably that he can change it. That with Madara on his side they can make peace come to this mad world.

“See that clearing between the trees there?” he asked when they were sitting at one of their favourite spots, a steep cliff overlooking the valley. “We could build our own settlement there, where everyone could live peacefully together.”

“Are you a fool?” Madara laughed. “Don’t you know what I am? I thought you were the spawn of Senju. Your clan has hunted my kin since the beginning of time.”

Hashirama knew what Madara was, of course. Madara was a boy, his best friend. Yes, he was a Yōkai who took on a human form, but that didn’t matter as it should have.

“Maybe not a settlement,” he allowed. “Or not one straight away. But you and I - one day we are going to build our house on that clearing and live there together.” 

His father said he had fallen under the spell of a demon fox, a Kitsune tricking him, or even worse, a malicious Yako who was playing with its prey. That he had to forget everything. That he should have known better.

In truth, Madara had used very little magic on him. Just as Hashirama knew what he was, he also knew Hashirama to be a Hunter. It didn’t matter. His feelings were genuine and not the product of some witchcraft.

  
  
  


***

Hashirama wakes up feeling stronger. It’s night-time again, but there’s a small fire lit in the cave. The appearance of the den has changed with the return of its owner. There’s Hashirama’s futon, there are pillows and the small fireplace. The smoke twirls upwards in a carefree lift, escaping the cave through a small opening at the top. 

Hashirama wakes up hungry, thirsty and with an unpleasantly full bladder. He rolls onto his hands and knees, the urgent need to run and relieve himself taking over everything else. He meets the eyes of a surprised Madara, mutters an apology as he scrambles to his feet and rushes outside. 

His old friend watches him with amusement in his dark eyes when he returns. Hashirama grins, slightly embarrassed. He takes his pouch of water and some rice balls out from his pack and offers some to Madara, who just shakes his head. Hashirama remembers sharing his Inari-zushi back in his childhood. He wonders if Madara ever eats the offerings people leave for Kitsune at shrines. It’s a strange wish, everything considered, to have Madara accept some of his food again. 

“How did you end up here?” he asks around his mouthful. “Were you travelling the lands?”

“I was born here,” Madara says, then adds on a low voice. “The skulk is long gone now. I thought I would find my brother, but… he wasn’t here anymore.” Hashirama remembers Madara telling him of his last remaining brother. It made it easy to relate to him, to realise how similar they were, despite everything.

“I can help you look for him,” he offers.

“How would you do that? More importantly, _why_ would you do that?”  
  


“I’m good at finding Yōkai - it’s my job! And I want to help, of course.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it. We’d need to make a deal, a pact. I’d need to offer you something in return.”

“We are _friends,_ Madara! There’s no need for something like that between us.”

“You keep saying that, but how could we be friends? You were nothing but a mere kit when we first met, Hashirama. Now you are an…” he hesitates, “an old man.”

Hashirama puffs his face up in indignation but then bursts out in laughter.

“I’m not _old!”_ he protests. “I’m but twenty-three! A _young_ man. In his prime,” he can’t help to add with a wink. “I was a kid when we met, yes, but that doesn’t mean my feelings for you aren’t deep. If anything, I am finally freely allowed to feel them, after these years. Let me… let me help. I want to do something for you, Madara, please.”

There are many tales of the Kitsune seducing humans. In those stories, the fox usually takes the form of a young, beautiful maiden to turn the head of mortal men. It would make sense for Hashirama’s Kitsune to turn into an attractive man. If Hashirama would suspect Madara of any sort of seduction, which he doesn’t, he'd change his mind after seeing the alarm that appears on his face as he listens to his declaration. 

“Anyway,” he says, obviously deciding to ignore Hashirama’s desperate confession, “Izuna never liked humans. And it’s not as if I _need_ your help.”

“It came handy against the Masked Man, didn’t it?” 

Madara glares at him. He retreats to the other side of the cave again and proceeds to pay no mind to Hashirama for the rest of the night. The Hunter quietly drifts off to sleep again.

***

“I went back, you know. I kept looking for you at all of our secret places. The bend of the river. The cliff. That old, tall tree with its bird nests.” Madara doesn’t respond. He is standing at the entrance of the cave, watching the morning sun as it struggles to break through the clouds. Hashirama doesn’t give up.

“Later I asked about you. I talk to all kinds of creatures, after all. I wasn’t allowed to remember much, but I hoped somebody might recognise you, still. I never gave up. I vowed to myself that I won’t rest until I can see you again.”

There’s a slight tilt of head, a sign that Madara is listening. Hashirama draws his knees up to his chest and lays his chin on top of them. He feels dreamy - not with exhaustion of the challenging defeat of the Masked Man, not anymore, but with the wonder of being in Madara’s presence again. It’s also the cave and its enchantment - it’s the dwelling of a powerful Yōkai and as such has a strong effect on a man. Hashirama is aware of it, he could ever break free of the peaceful feeling it creates, as if he’s outside of the usual flow of time and space. He _should_ break free of it, it’s dangerous for a human to be under the influence of such a place for long. He just really doesn’t want to, not until he absolutely has. 

“And I am here now, with you. The miracle I hoped… no, the one I _knew_ was going to happen. Will you let me stay by your side?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Madara turns finally, frowning at him. “I’m not holding you under any spell.”

“Oh, you _do_ have me under your spell,” Hashirama chuckles. “Just maybe not the kind you even realise you have.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Madara walks up to where he’s sitting, and looks down at him with a guarded expression. Hashirama holds out a hand for him and to his surprise Madara takes it. He examines Hashirama’s palm as if it would give him answers about his strange behaviour. His hand is dry and cool, as smooth as silk. If he were human, his hand would say he’s a noble, someone who never had to work a day in his life, never had to handle tools or weapons. 

Hashirama, who sparred in playful competition with him many times in his childhood and who has seen him holding the gunbai he reclaimed from Obito, familiar and confident, knows not to be deceived by this. His own fingers are rough and hardened - from handling his sword, from chopping wood and doing other hard labour. There’s a scar on the back of his hand, a memento of an encounter with a particularly mean Yōkai with very sharp talons. He wonders what Madara thinks of all this. Does he find the differences of their hands as fascinating as Hashirama does, or is he maybe repulsed by his calluses and small flaws, all these reminders that Hashirama is just a mortal man?

He looks up at Madara and slowly brings his hand to his lips. He places a gentle kiss on the back of it. Madara’s dark eyes are wide - Hashirama can’t quite read them. He turns his hand around, kissing the middle of his palm, his smooth, long fingers, his unblemished, pale skin. He lets go with a heavy feeling of regret when Madara pulls it back.

The Yōkai crouches down suddenly in front of him, leaning in close. He takes Hashirama’s face in between his palms, scrutinising him very thoroughly. The Hunter hardly dares to breathe as cool fingers ghost over his brows, the stubble he’d need to shave off after these days, as they feel the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw. His heart pounds too fast, too loud as those fingers touch the lobe of his ear, pushing his hair behind it.

“You have changed, Hashirama,” Madara states quietly. The human blinks, trying to focus on the words. It’s no easy task, as Madara’s fingers are now on his neck. He’s getting quite hot under his clothes, despite the damp chilliness of the cave. “You used to look different. You used to _feel_ different.”

“I grew up,” Hashirama whispers. He doesn’t dare to move or even to speak loudly, lest he scares Madara with his wonderful touch away. “I’m no longer a kid. You look different as well.”

“Do I?” Madara asks. “I think I always look like this.” He parts strands of Hashirama’s hair, observing their colour and the way they slide through his fingers. 

“No, you were… a boy, I guess. Remember, how we were the same height? We played and raced and spared and shared dreams…”

“I guess we did. I don’t know why I walked up to you that day. I was supposed to lure you away, a stupid, crying human child. I could have drowned you in the river or made sure you got lost in the woods forever.” There’s no threat in his words and Hashirama just smiles. He might have been twelve, but he was more than competent to defend himself against evil demons and spirits. But the Yōkai boy had no malicious intent in him that day, only curiosity. He knew he meant no harm. 

“You comforted me, instead.”

“It was strange, finding we had some things in common.”

“The thread of fate connects us, Madara. That’s why we have met. That’s why I could find you again. You have always been on my mind. Were you thinking of me as well?”

“I wondered what has become of you, but the lives of humans are so fickle. When you disappeared it just proved I was wrong in not keeping my distance.”

Hashirama leans in but Madara’s finger tightens in his hair, keeping him in place. His body, confused but excited with the proximity of someone he longed for a decade, misinterprets this as some rough play. He starts to stiffen in his pants, which doesn’t help him at all in thinking calmly.

“I don’t want to keep your distance,” he gasps. “Madara, if anything I want us to be as close as we can be. Please, I need you so much…”

“You are indeed a fool,” Madara pulls back. “What am I to do with a human following me around? You better regain your strength fast and leave me on my own.”

***

When Hashirama was sixteen, a woman invited him to her bed. She was a young, wealthy widow who needed help to cleanse her home of malicious spirits. She paid him more generously than she had to and opened her arms to him at night. 

Hashirama found the experience pleasant, but nothing more. He was looking for something harder, firmer, rougher. Less than a year later a man offered him his company and Hashirama found that night more to his liking. 

He enjoyed finding pleasure with someone the same way he enjoyed tasty food, good sake, a long night’s sleep or singing a heartfelt song. They all helped him to keep the balance of his body and mind. 

He never spent more than a few nights in a row with anyone. He was on the road most of the time or spending the days of winter with his clan in the village. The men who shared their beds with him understood it, even more so, expected him to leave. Hashirama never minded. 

As he grew up, he realised that his feelings for the boy his father tried to force him to forget run deeper than simple, childish friendship. Hashirama was in love, even if he had no face or no name to anchor his love to. Now that he is with Madara again, that love runs deeper and stronger in him than ever.

He is used to whims of fancy. Seeing a handsome man, making careful overtures and if his advances are welcomed, spending a brief, enjoyable time together. He never felt this heavy pining for anyone that he feels now. He looks at Madara and yearns for him so badly it _hurts._

He wishes to know what Madara feels, if he returns even a portion of Hashirama’s emotions, but the Yōkai is careful not to reveal much. 

Hashirama tells himself it doesn’t matter. If he can’t do anything more than love this creature of his dreams from a distance, so be it. He should still consider himself a happy man for having someone he can love so much. 

***

He can’t tell for sure how much time has passed since they have defeated the Noppera-Bō. Four days or five? Maybe even more? Hashirama has been weak at first, sleeping so much. His strength has returned now, but that’s the effect of a man staying close to a powerful Yōkai - time starts to flow differently.

He has hardly left the cave since he arrived here. He goes out to relieve himself, to wash his face and hands in the tiny spring that broke its way through the rocks near the opening and to fill his water pouch there. He is careful to always keep an eye out on the entrance of the den. He knows how tricky finding Yōkai dwellings can be if they don’t want to be found.

The inevitable happens no matter how he tries to delay it, of course. He runs out of food. He eats the last morsels he can find in his pouch and decides he can go hungry for a day or two. He feels Madara watching him, but he doesn’t look over, not until he stands up and walks over to Hashirama. 

“Come on,” he nudges him with his feet. “I want to spar with you. Let me see your worth.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hashirama says hesitantly. Madara laughs.

“You are full of yourself, aren’t you? I doubt you can even touch me.”

He has his gunbai in his hand. Feeling unsure, Hashirama grabs his own sword and bag and follows him out. 

They come to a stop on a small clearing. Madara turns to face him. He looks different somehow, feral, appearing more the Yōkai he is than the man that is his preferred form. He grins, showing off sharp, vulpine canines. He blinks and his black eyes turn red, that strange pattern Hashirama glimpsed before whirling into view. He pulls on dark gloves and points his war fan at Hashirama, who had unconsciously shifted into a defensive stance. On the sky dark clouds are gathering, threatening to spill their overheavy stomachs in any second.

“What are we doing here, Madara?” he asks tentatively.

“We are going to fight, Hashirama. Let’s see what kind of a Hunter you have become.”

“I’m certainly not going to _hunt_ you!” he denies vehemently.

“No? Then maybe _I_ will hunt you, like you are nothing but a little mouse. But here, let’s make it more interesting. If you defeat me, you can stay with me as you wish, but if I defeat you, you will go back to your people and leave me alone.”

“That’s ridiculous! I’m not going to agree to…”

“No? You think this forest was a dangerous place under Obito’s rule? Do you want to see it become the nightmare I can turn it into? I’ll kill you first and consume that irritating little village with the red-haired priestess, then who knows? The thing about appetite - the more you eat, the more you crave.”

Hashirama can see shadows twirling behind him - the imprint of demonic energy on the material world. The nine tails of the Kyuubi no Kitsune. His training is too through for him not to react to that. He bares his teeth, gripping his sword with determination. Madara grins even wider. 

“Let’s dance, Hashirama!”

They clash and the rain, as if it was waiting for this moment, starts to pour down in a heavy curtain. It makes it hard to see, but Hashirama knows he shouldn’t mind it. He doesn’t know what power Madara’s eyes have, but he is sure it would be a bad idea to look into them.

He charges, making the attack to look too open and easy to parry. Madara uses his gunbai to block his sword. If it was an ordinary weapon, the sharp steel would cut it in half. As it is, it stops the katana’s swing. Madara snorts disdainfully, just for the sound to turn into a surprised yelp as Hashirama kicks his legs from under him in an underhanded move. He’s on his feet the next instant, grin on his face again. It’s less feral than excited this time, and Hashirama can’t help but smile back.

He quickly realises that while Madara does his best to overpower him, he doesn’t intend to seriously harm him. Hashirama fights with the same aim. He will win over Madara, if that’s how he will allow Hashirama to stay with him. 

After the time in the cave, he’s still a bit slower that he normally is, but he warms up quickly. Madara is cunning like the fox he is and fights dirty. He is a master of his unique weapon, he casts blazing fire balls at the most unexpected moments that don't seem to be dampened by the heavy rain at all. One of them scorches Hashirama's arm and he has to tear off the sleeve of his shirt to save himself. At least the cold rain cools his skin down. Madara cackles and taunts, saying he’s now almost ready to be eaten.

Hashirama pretends to be overtaken by pain and falls to one knee. Madara approaches, the flash of worry so quickly disguised on his face that the Hunter almost misses it. He raises his gunbai - he could behead the human from this angle if he decided to bring it down. Hashirama doesn’t wait to see if he would. He swings his katana up, hitting the handle of the war fan on the underside. He takes Madara unprepared and the weapon flies away from his hand. Before Madara could race after it, Hashirama is already on his feet. He presses his blade against the Kitsune’s white, elegant throat, tight enough to appear serious, but careful not to cut. Madara glares at him.

“You must be constantly hungry,” Hashirama teases “if that’s how you hunt when you want to eat.” Madara snorts. 

“I realised you are nothing but muscle and sinew - hardly a pleasing lunch. Maybe if I crisp you a bit more…”

Hashirama laughs, lowering his sword. The rain casts a heavy curtain around them. Water is running down their faces, his clothes and hair heavy with it. 

“I guess you have to keep me now,” he says, smiling. He looks into Madara’s strange, red eyes and finds them beautiful. He closes the remaining little space between them, raising his hand, burnt arm be damned, to cup Madara’s face. He leans in and captures his lips in a gentle kiss.

Madara kisses back, tentatively at first. Hashirama guides him, with soft press of lips, licking his lower lips playfully. It deepens soon enough as Madara returns the gesture with passion. Hashirama’s heartbeat, which hasn’t settled down from the fight yet, beats even faster. His arm hurts, he’s wet and cold but still he never felt better in his whole life. 

Madara’s gloved hands press against his temple, fingers digging through his drenched locks. Hashirama moans into his mouth, wanting more. His knees buckle suddenly and only now does he realise Madara is not simply holding his head in place for the kiss. He’s draining his energy rapidly and without any resistance put up from Hashirama. He had a calm enough head at the beginning of the battle not to look into his eyes, but in the end, the was proven to be a fool.

“What…?”

Madara steps away and Hashirama finds his legs no longer support him. He falls down on the muddy ground, barely able to raise his hand to protect his face from the impact.

A weight pushes down on his back, far heavier than the limber human form Madara wears would suggest. Coarse hair brushes his face - his eyes focus with some difficulty on the large pawn, adorned by black fur and sharp claws next to his head. He feels panting, hot breath on his nape from a mouth that must have sharp fangs.

“You are nothing but a naive child still, Hashirama,” Madara says and his voice is deeper than usual. “You claim you want to stay with me, but how do you imagine that to happen? How long could you stay alive in my world? You are a mortal and I’m eternal. How long would it take for you to become the prey of some Yōkai? Or would you just starve to death as you apparently planned to do in the cave? I have no need for a companion so fragile.”

“I’m not,” Hashirama starts, but it’s hard to argue when he is pushed face first into a puddle. “I’m not fragile. Naive, maybe, or rather just hopeful. I thought our fight was over.”

“Well, you thought it wrong. I have claimed victory over you now. Go back to your people, Hashirama. Go and live among your kind and forget finally about me.”

“I will never, never forget you, Madara! I love you…”

“You utter fool,” the fox growls, forcing him down into the soaked earth. “Fear me. Hate me. Forget me. Live the life you are supposed to live. I was wrong to talk to you that day. Think of it as nothing but my deception. If you know what’s good for you, don’t ever think about me again.”

The weight is suddenly gone from Hashirama’s back. He turns around, but the clearing is empty as if Madara was never there, as if their fight and their kiss was nothing but his imagination. 


	3. Chapter 3

His legs barely hold him. Hashirama stumbles and falls countless times before he manages to crawl back to the cave. The downpour soaked the earth, making the grass slippery and the path hard to take in his weakened state. It takes forever for him to get back - only to find nothing but the place where the cave used to be, nothing but the bare surface of solid rocks. Only the tiny spring marks the spot, otherwise there’s nothing indicating that there used to be any kind of opening in the side of the hill.

Hashirama collapses. The rain mixes with his tears. He’s aching, weak and covered in cold mud. 

“Madara, please,” he whispers but there’s no answer.

There are means to unveil a Yōkai’s den. It takes a clear mind, a strong body and an iron will. Hashirama doesn’t possess any of these, right now. He thinks he will just stay where he is and slowly fade out of life. He’s at peace with that.

His stomach choses that moment to give a loud rumble and he realises he’s hungry. Very hungry in fact. His body demands food, rest and a dry place, ignoring his plans to die here alone. As close to Madara as he can get, but still, completely alone. It doesn’t really fit his mood that he started to long for mushroom soup and pork miso. It’s such an absurd thing that Hashirama starts to laugh. 

If anyone would happen on him now, they would think him some kind of a forest demon. A mad one at that, covered in wet dirt, drenched to his bones, laughing and crying at the same time. 

***

Madara said he has no need for a frail human being. He likely has even less need for one to die at his doorstep, so Hashirama goes back to the village. His arrival causes quite the stir - people assumed he has perished, or at the very least, was lost to the spirit world forever. He has been away for ten days, as he learns.

He wolfs down a bowl of stew and is very grateful when Mito-san refills it for him without being asked. He is bathed, the nasty burn mark on his arm is tended to, and he is given warm, clean, dry clothes. He starts to feel alive again. 

“The forest is now at rest,” he tells the village elder and his daughter. “The order has been restored.”

The elder is happy enough with that. He tells Hashirama to rest and thanks him for his efforts. The Miko however stays even after his father leaves.

“I have felt the spirits calming down long days ago,” she tells Hashirama. “I thought you might have given your life in exchange. I never imagined you will emerge so much time later, battered and starved.”

“I defeated the impostor who caused all the problems on the second night,” Hashirama confesses. “But I had something else to take care of.”

Mito-san looks at him for a long time. Her gaze is steady, calm and serene, and Hashirama feels it strips him of his secrets. He casts his eyes down, ashamed as if he was caught lying. 

“You need to heal, Hashirama-dono,” she says quietly. “Your body just needs some food and rest, but the heart needs time to mend. Whatever happened to you on the hill, you need to recover from it.”

“I don’t think my heart can ever heal,” Hashirama says, still looking at his empty bowl. “Some wounds just never do.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all the tales of humans falling in love with Yōkai,” she says tentatively. Hashirama startles, surprised by her insight. “And how those stories never end well. You, of all people, should be aware of the dangers.”

“Have you ever been in love, Mito-san?”

“I can’t say I have been.”

“I’m no expert myself either, but … I don’t think I can forget someone I love, no matter if I _should.”_

“What are you going to do then?”

Hashirama looks away, thinking. He could say he has no idea, that he will pretend everything is alright, that he will carry on with his life and bear the pain. 

“I think, Mito-san, I have no choice but to fight for my love. I can’t continue my life if I don’t even try.”

***

Hashirama writes a long letter to his father and his brother. He apologises for not going home just yet, but, as he explains, he couldn’t quite finish his business in Uzushiogakure. _This hill has further secrets that I have to solve, before I can leave from here,_ he writes and he’s not lying even if this reason is far from being the truth.

He asks Izumo-kun to deliver the letter and to ensure his family he’s all right. He is planning to travel anyway - apparently Kotetsu-san was envious that his friend got to see the world and the two of them plan to take a trip, selling some of Uzushiogakure’s goods at other towns and villages. They are happy enough to act as a courier, delivering the letter and the fee of Hashirama’s work to his father first. Izumo-kun claims the two of them can defend themselves from any bandits on the road, but Hashirama still sends up a silent prayer, wishing them to be safe.

He visits a nearby town first, spending most of his money on supplies to survive in the wild. He then buys some Inari-zushi and sets to the hill. 

He builds a small shrine from stones at the little spring, near where the entrance of the cave used to be. He lights the incense and places the Inari-zusi down. He kneels and claps his hands together.

“Madara,” he says, “I hope you are still here. I want you to know, I understand what you said. I can’t force myself on you, so please just allow me this. Allow me to stay near you, to feel your presence. I can’t fear you, hate you or forget you. Let me live in the same forest you live in. Let me walk on the same paths you walk.” He falls silent then laughs quietly. “You must think I’m a pathetic fool. I have no good arguments to prove I am not. I hope I won’t bother you much.”

There’s no answer, of course. However, when Hashirama checks the little shrine the next morning, the offering is gone. It makes him smile wildly.

***

Hashirama builds a hut. The people in the village are kind enough to lend him some tools. Few of them think him some kind of a mountain-sage, answering a divine calling, deciding to live on the hill. Others think he went barking mad. In a way, both are right. 

He has always been pretty good with woodwork and he progresses fast enough. He builds his shelter close to the peak - close to Madara’s den. He enjoys physical labour - it keeps him busy and helps him to restore his strength. Summer has arrived at last, and he dresses down to nothing but a pair of pants in defence of the heat. His weakened muscles protest at first, but he gets back to his top condition soon enough. He spends the remaining time of his days collecting food - berries and eggs mostly, but he catches fish as well in the ice-cold and crystal-clear lake. 

He discovers it once when he decides to follow the flow of the little spring. It joins a larger current which then leads him to the lake. He is excited to take a swim in it, although at first try he has to run back to the shore in a few minutes, teeth clattering and fearing his most valuable bits will never return to their proper size after the shock of the icy water. Luckily the water warms a little as the summer goes on.

Sometimes he feels watchful eyes on him, but he can’t tell whether it’s the wildlife, minor Yōkai or Madara himself. Nevertheless, he visits the small shrine he made first thing every morning. He always leaves some offering - strawberries, a cooked egg, rice balls, and talks to Madara at length.

He tells him everything about his life. The death of his mother and two younger brothers. He talks about his father, how they never really got on. Senju Butsuma is an honourable man, wildly esteemed not only by his clan, but throughout Fire Country. Hashirama respects his knowledge of Yōkai and his determination to keep their family strong, but despises his willingness to sacrifice people, even his own sons, if he deems it necessary.

“Children should be allowed to be children,” he tells the silent stone. “They shouldn’t be forced to fight.”

At another time he speaks about Tobirama, how his colours and almost his life were stolen. How he is the most diligent, organised person Hashirama knows and how he wishes he could be a little more light-hearted.

He tells Madara his meetings and fights with Yōkai and the people he has come to know over his life. He tells him about his dreams, his fears and hopes. He tells him funny stories and sad ones as well. He often speaks about the time they have spent together in Hashirama’s childhood. 

“Do you remember this the same way I do, Madara?” he asks. “Or have you chosen to forget these memories?” 

There’s never any answer, but he doesn’t let that discourage him.

***

“The first time I have seen you, I thought you were just a boy like me. I quickly realised my mistake, but… ah, I can’t quite explain it, Madara. I have fought spirits and demons before. You see, I was taught to fight them when I was but seven summers old.

I was so afraid, the first time father brought me along with him for a hunt. It was a Jubokko – you would think it’s an easy one enough. It’s just a tree, my father has told me, but it was a tree growing on the blood of people. It really wasn’t doing any harm – it planted its roots on an old battlefield, sucking up all the life force humans have shed in the past. But that was a long time ago, and the people now wanted to cut it down, to forget the painful past and grow rice on the field to feed new life.

When we cut into it, it bled like a human would. It cried an unearthly vail. It defended itself as much as it could, but it didn’t stand a chance against my father. It was chopped up and burnt to cinders.

On our way home, I asked my father if there was really no other way, if it had to come to this this violent end? We could have convinced the people that they can just plant their grains around it.

Father slapped me so hard, I had a bruise for a week. He warned me never have any tender feelings towards the Yōkai. The two worlds have no business mixing, he said. A Hunter shouldn’t think anything but how to hunt.

Children aren’t supposed to question their parents, but you can say I was never a very obedient son. It didn’t take me long to realise how wrong father was. Everything living on this earth feels. Yōkai are no different than us, humans. You love and hate, get angry and sad, has hopes and fears, just as we do. If we only try to understand each other…

When you first spoke to me that day, I knew we can be friends. I felt closer to you than to the boys in my clan. It seemed you were looking for something as well. That you might be looking for the same thing as me – to stop the madness of this world, to end the endless fighting. I thought that maybe your kin didn’t understand you any better than mine did.

After I lost you, I tried to live my life the way I thought right. I often questioned myself – what would you say, if you saw me? Would you approve of my actions? Am I honouring the promises and dreams we wove together?

I did my best, Madara. I failed a few times, but I did my best. I’ll tell you all about the failures as well, so you can be the judge if I’m to ever be worthy of your attention again.”

***

Autumn arrives with chilly nights, although the days are still warm. Hashirama chops firewood, dries fruits and smokes fish in preparation for winter. The villagers warn him to come down from the hill before the snow arrives, but he waves them off with a cheerful smile. He buys rice and a warm, woven blanket.

He finds the winter easier to bear than he usually does. He has started to get used to the solitude and silence. He practices with his sword and roams the forest when the snow isn’t too deep. He still spends hours at the shrine, sitting on a rock he cleared, only leaving when he starts not feeling his toes. He still brings his offerings, and they are still taken. Hashirama has wondered if maybe the animals are eating them and with the snow he can finally know for sure.

Most often he sees the imprint of small paws - they look similar to the ones dogs leave. His heart beats faster thinking it must be left by a fox. One morning however he finds the mark left by geta, wooden slippers that seem entirely inadequate to be worn in such weather. They are smaller and less deep than the marks Hashirama feet leaves - the imprint of light-footed steps. He wants to shout his joy at finding them, but he restrains himself, murmuring Madara’s name quietly.

***

On a sunny day he gets careless. He goes for a walk and ventures off the known path. The snow is blinding as it reflects the light back so he can’t quite see where he’s putting his feet down. He slips and falls down a slope. He hits his head on a rock and gets knocked out for a while.

He is frozen to the bone when he wakes. He curses himself, thinking that now Madara will really take him for a weakling. He forces his body to move. He hurts, but nothing seems to be broken. He tries to crawl back to the path, only to realise he doesn't know which way to go. Still, he has to keep going, if he doesn’t want to freeze to death.

He starts to really worry only when dusk begins to settle in. He has no idea where he is. He should look for a shelter and continue his search for the way back the next day, but all he can see around him are dark, silent trees. He doesn’t waste his strength on swearing. 

As he’s about to abandon his last spark of hope, he spots a bright figure of a man in the distance. He seems to be looking back above his shoulder at Hashirama, illuminated in the rapidly falling darkness. 

The first rule around Yōkai is that one should never follow them when off-track. They lure humans far away from the roads and make them lost forever in the wilderness. But Hashirama is filled by unexpected hope and it’s not as if he has another choice.

He follows the slender figure for what, to his exhausted body and mind, feels like hours. The forest is eerily quiet around them, the silence broken only by his panting breaths. The night is dark - if not for the glow the figure emits, he wouldn’t be able to see a thing. He doesn’t even know how he makes his body move any longer, when he just wants to lay down and sleep. 

If he stops, the luminous appearance stops as well. It is probably only his imagination, but he looks quite impatient as he waits for Hashirama to collect himself, to somehow find strength to continue walking. 

He follows him, his body numb with cold and his mind drifting. Suddenly the glow dims out and disappears. It takes Hashirama a long second to realise that he is standing in front of his hut. He looks around, as if waking from a dream, but he is alone on the dark clearing. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to the empty air. He wants to cry but lacks the strength to do so.

Inside he sheds his wet, cold clothes, lights the fire and crawls under his blanket. The next instant he’s asleep.

***

Hashirama is very sick for five days. He breaks out in a fever and has barely the energy to do more than lay on his cot, shivering and miserable. He forces himself to melt some snow and to brew the herbs he thankfully dried at the end of summer. He drinks the tea, chokes down some preserved fruits and sleeps.

A less stubborn man might die, but Hashirama is not someone who admits easily to defeat. He has also always regenerated very quickly from any wound or illness and he won’t let this time be an exception. 

On the fifth morning he feels considerably stronger. He eats a hearty breakfast, dresses himself and leaves for the shrine, carrying smoked fish as his offering. 

He finds Madara sitting on his usual rock. Hashirama stops, not quite sure if he dares to believe his own eyes. Madara raises his gaze at him slowly. There’s a strange, lost expression on his face. They stare at each other in silence.

“It seems to be you, Hashirama, and not just some restless spirit,” he says at long last. “Does it mean you didn’t die?”

“You saved me,” he carefully steps closer. “I would have died if not for you.”

“But you stopped coming - again. I thought this time it was for good.”

“I was ill,” Hashirama confesses. “But I’m alright now. Here,” he says, placing the food carefully down next to Madara. “I brought this for you.”

Madara stares down at the fish with a blank expression. His face suddenly twists in anger and he sweeps it off into the snow.

“I don’t need these… these _offerings_ from you!” he hisses, jumping to his feet. “Stop bringing them! Stop coming here altogether! I told you to forget me and live your own life! Why are you still here?”

Hashirama embraces him. He expects to be shoved away, to be attacked even, but Madara just goes still in his arms before he slowly relaxes. 

“I’m sorry, Madara,” Hashirama whispers. “I can’t leave you. I think I’ll just wither and perish if I try.”

“You fool, you utter fool,” Madara pushes his forehead against Hashirama’s shoulder, his unruly hair shadowing his eyes. Hashirama touches his pointed chin gently to raise his face. Then, proving he is the fool Madara just accused him to be, kisses him. 

Madara kisses back and even if it’s a bit too wild and a bit too desperate, Hashirama wouldn’t exchange it for anything in this world. His fingers combs through thick, black locks, tipping Madara’s head back. He parts their lips just to kiss the other’s cheeks, his nose, his eyes and forehead. 

“I love you,” he breaths. “I love you, Madara.”

***

He invites Madara back to his hut and to his delighted surprise, the Yōkai accepts. They kiss again in the warmth of the tiny cabin. There’s an urgency, a desperation in him - a feeling that he has to keep touching Madara, lest he changes his mind. Lest he disappears, leaving Hashirama embracing nothing but smoke.

Madara doesn’t tell him to stop, nor does he vanish. With nimble fingers he unties Hashirama’s garments, pushing his thick coat and shirt off his shoulders. He urges him to get rid of the rest of his clothing and pushes him down on his narrow cot. Himself still fully dressed, he climbs on top of him.

“The whole summer,” he says, leaning down to place sucking kisses on Hashirama’s neck and chest. “The whole summer you taunted me with this body. Running around in my forest naked, bathing in my lake, chopping down my wood and catching my fish.” 

“I really wasn’t running around naked,” Hashirama protests, but forgets the rest as Madara bites down on the soft skin above his collarbone. He is unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips up, rubbing his hard cock against the silky material of Madara’s pants. 

“I wondered if it was an offering of a sort as well,” Madara continues. “Oh, how you tempted me, day by day, you foolish, beautiful human.”

“I’m yours to take,” Hashirama gasps. His fingers seek out the bottom of Madara’s long shirt and the Yōkai lets him pull it over his head. He pushes Hashirama’s arm above his head, holding them down with one hand. 

“What a moron are you, to offer yourself like that to a creature like me?”

“I’m your moron,” Hashirama smiles, aroused and happy. “You are free to do whatever you want with me.”

Madara growls, on a voice that’s feral and not human at all. He lets Hashirama’s arms go in favour of continuing his descend down his body, placing his biting kisses everywhere. Hashirama is sure he will have bruises the next day. He _hopes_ he will have them, a memento that this is really happening and not just his imagination. 

Madara is quite thorough in exploring his body, but he avoids his cock, which lies hard, red and heavy against his stomach. He teases him until Hashirama feels he’s about to lose his mind, then strips out of his remaining clothes. He pushes the Hunter back on the cot when he reaches for him.

“You said I can do whatever I want with you. Now stay put, Hashirama.”

“Don’t be cruel, Madara,” Hashirama pouts. “You are driving me insane.”

“That would suggest you were sane to begin with,” Madara smirks at him. He straddles Hashirama’s waist, pushing his arse down against his straining prick. 

Hashirama has been with other men before. He knows how to use his hands or his mouth to please the other. He has even buggered men on two memorable occasions and has been buggered once before, but something like that takes time. The body has a natural resistance one has to relax and soothe. Most of his encounters have been too hurried to gain the trust and to spare the time the act needs. 

He finds that a Yōkai’s body isn’t bound by the same restrictions as a human’s. 

Madara takes his cock in his smooth hand, caressing it with a gentleness Hashirama wasn’t expecting. Then without further ado, he raises up on his knees, positions it at his opening and sinks down on it. Hashirama gasps a protest, scared he will be hurting him, but Madara opens up for him, taking in his whole length slowly but with no apparent pain.

He would regret that he couldn’t take his time, learning Madara’s body if he wasn’t half-mad with lust and years of longing pent up. He is trembling slightly as he does his best to hold back, to allow Madara to take his time. Next time - and there _has to be_ a next time - they can go slowly. 

His Kitsune lover moves carefully, rolling his hips and biting his lower lip as he adjusts to his girth. Hashirama grasps his thighs, too roughly, but Madara doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes lock with Hashirama’s as he pushes a hand down against his chest, riding him slowly. 

There’s nothing that he doesn’t find delightful on Madara. His face, with its large, dark eyes, pale skin and sharp chin. His wonderful, thick mane of hair. His elegant neck, his prominent collarbones. His slender body with its graceful limbs. His delicate looking hands that Hashirama knows to be strong. His long legs, which grasp Hashirama’s side so tightly. Even his cock, flushed and curving up towards his flat belly. 

“You are beautiful,” Hashirama gasps, feeling wholly inadequate to express with words how enthralled he is by Madara’s whole being. The other still understands him, or maybe he is pleased with this clumsy compliment, as he smiles down at him. It’s gentle and caring and although he quickly turns it into a smirk, Hashirama catches it. His heart overflows with love and his body catches in a spiral of pleasure.

He really doesn’t last long at all and he will be embarrassed about it later. When he has almost reached his peak, Madara moves off from him, ignoring his protests and pleas. He takes him in hand and after a few quick, confident movements of his wrist, Hashirama is spilling his seed on his stomach. Madara jerks him until he has given everything he can, then pulls his hair out of the way, leans down, and with a curious expression on his face, licks the liquid up from Hashirama’s belly. 

It takes all of Hashirama’s willpower not to come for a second time, straight away. 

Madara takes his time, his pink, warm tongue lapping up his semen as if it’s one of the offerings the Hunter placed for him. An embarrassing, keening noise bursts out of him at the thought. Madara looks up at him and his face is flushed, his eyes even darker than usual. Hashirama takes a handful of his hair and urges him up for a kiss, and if he’s pulling on it, there’s no protest coming from his lover.

Surprisingly, he is still hard, something he realises when Madara’s fingers close around him again. 

“Ah,” he says, and his voice is hoarse, “that’s not something that usually happens.”

Madara laughs and calls him a foolish human. Hashirama doesn’t know if his body is responding to the influence of Yōkai or if it’s simply Madara having this effect on him, and he doesn’t care. He rolls them around, urges Madara to wrap his legs around his waist and sinks back into his body.

It’s hard and fast from there. Madara pulls his hair, bites his neck, growling and moaning. Hashirama puts his back into his thrusts, watching Madara lose himself in rough pleasure. He arches his neck back when he climaxes, without Hashirama even touching his cock. He comes in thick spurts, eyes closed and mouth wide open in a long moan, showing his sharp canines. His body clenches around Hashirama and he is coming again, deep within Madara. 

He collapses on top of the Yōkai’s slender body, out of breath, every inch of his skin over sensitive with pleasure. With considerable effort he rolls off the other, not wanting to crush him and finds he has the space to do so. At one point of their lovemaking the narrow, hard cot he has craved from wood has miraculously widened itself into a soft and wide futon.

He grins at Madara, who raises an amused eyebrow back at him. He already looks cool and collected, but there’s a small, pleased smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. Hashirama kisses it, then kisses him fully on the lips again. 

“I love you,” he says, just because he can.


	4. Chapter 4

Madara is like a man and yet he is not. He looks like one, even if he is more graceful, his eyes more all-seeing than any humans. He would get strange looks in a town, with his untamed, long hair. People might take him for a savage judged by it, then be confused by his too-nice clothes, made from the richest, silkiest material. People would think him strange, the very least, but Hashirama has been in the capital and seen odder figures and they were all entirely human. Hashirama loves his wild hair and the lithe body he dresses in light pants and long shirt, regardless of the weather.

The more perceptive would notice his eyes too. They are usually half-hidden under the shadow of his hair, under lowered eyelids. When Madara is angry they turn red and frightening - nobody would miss him for what he is then. When he is curious or, as Hashirama is fascinated to learn, aroused, they open wide, dark as the stateless sky at midnight. They then appear too large, too deep, too piercing to belong to a man. Hashirama remembered these eyes even when he couldn’t recall the rest of his face and he utterly, ridiculously loves them. 

When it is the full moon, Madara spends the night outside, gazing up at it. Hashirama joins him, sitting close to him as long as he can bear the cold. He looks peaceful, hypnotised even as he keeps his eyes on the sky, but he lets Hashirama pull him into his arms. He doesn’t say anything the whole night. He is beautiful as the fool moon illuminates his face, making him look ethereal. Hashirama wants to stay with him, to do nothing ever again but to look at him, but Madara wouldn’t appreciate him freezing to death, so in the end he goes back inside. He lays on their futon, alone for the first time in weeks, and concentrates on nothing, but the love he feels. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Madara sometimes looks like the fox he is. Most often it’s only the way he moves - light footed, fast and careful. It’s the curious tilt of his head, raising his face in the wind to catch some smell. When he is not keeping up his guard, when he is relaxed around Hashirama, his form slips a bit. These times Hashirama can see the shadow of dark tails, the hint of pointed ears. Sometimes his nails and teeth lengthen. He tends to hold him tight with those claws, bite into his neck gentler than expected with those canines. Hashirama doesn't even bother to pretend he doesn’t love it.

***

Madara tells him about his life. 

“You have placed all these offerings for me,” he says. He is resting in Hashirama’s arm, with both of them naked, save for the blanket covering them. His head is pillowed on the man’s shoulder and he is watching the fire in the hearth. “You offered me your food, your dreams, your body and your life. I can give this in return.”

“When I came to this world, I wasn’t alone. I can still vaguely recall my parents and my brothers. We lived on this hill for many years, before the humans came and built their villages.

My family disappeared one by one. Some went to faraway lands and never returned. Some simply faded out of existence, living long enough in this world.

The only one I remember clearly is my last remaining brother, Izuna. He was young and passionate. He was strong but fragile. I thought my role was to protect him and keep him by my side.

The world changed. Humans changed it - we were stripped of some of our power and they became stronger. Oh, how Izuna hated them! Don’t trust them, he warned me. Change is dangerous, he said. It threatens the balance. You can no longer know what fate awaits you.

But I was curious. I disguised myself as a man and went to visit the towns. I talked to humans and ate their food. I listened to them sing and laugh and cry. I found some of them were evil indeed, but some of them had a good heart. I told this to Izuna, but he just called me a fool. 

Izuna didn’t want to see the world. I think he wanted to disappear like the rest of our family did, but he knew I needed him. He said he had no use for his eyes, but he would give them to me, so I can go and see the world through them. See for myself how humanity really is. 

I wandered for many years. Through Izuna's eyes, everything seemed duller and somehow... unimportant. The joy of humans was hollow, their pain insignificant. Their evil was superficial and their good never lasted. I realised my brother was right, that the world of mortals hold nothing for me.

But when I was about to return here, something happened. I talked to a boy, a mere child of men, and he was, in some inexplicable way, different. He looked at me and _saw_ me and gave me purpose. I found a bond I didn’t even know I was missing.

But humans are so fragile. After he stopped coming to meet me, I retired to this hill in despair, vowing to never make such a mistake again. I missed my brother and thought his company was all I needed. I should have never let this moral child close to me. I swore to myself that I will erase him from my heart and my memories… but I couldn’t, not really. 

I called for Izuna, lonely and hurting, but there was no answer. He was gone. While I walked the earth, he decided to move on. Whether he has gone somewhere else, or left his existence behind him, I don’t know.

Then Obito arrived. I was weakened by sorrow and loneliness and I let him fool me. I realised too late he wasn’t keeping me company but was syphoning power from me. He was preparing to take on my form, to take my place. 

Infuriating as his atrocity was, I couldn’t really care. What was the point of fighting him, after all? Not much, when I was left alone. I could have sat in my cave, without seeing or talking to anyone, forever - but what for? I thought that I might let him become me. I was to perish, but that seemed like a better option than loneliness.”

“You are no longer alone,” Hashirama assures him and kisses his lips. He keeps him close the whole night. He will keep him close him as long as he lives.

***

The winter rages on long and hard, but for once, Hashirama doesn’t mind it at all. Madara stays with him in the hut most of the time and the little cabin gains many comfort features that can’t quite be explained.

The wide and soft futon bed - it shouldn’t even be able to fit inside, yet it does. There are all kinds of pillows, cooking appliances, furniture that Hashirama certainly didn’t have before. One morning he finds a richly decorated chest in the corner, full of warm, well-woven, embroidered clothes of a quality he has only ever seen the richest of nobles to wear. 

He dresses in them and thinks he must look ridiculous. Madara is already outside - he likes to leave these gifts for Hashirama but doesn’t stay to see him finding them. It’s snowing again, but as usual he’s only wearing his silky, light pants and long shirt, the cold not bothering him at all. The snow melts in his dark hair, but Hashirama knows it will take only a thought of him to dry it.

One evening Madara allowed him to comb through it and dry it with a warm cloth. It took hours upon hours, Hashirama working in a daze and Madara letting him. Usually he’s not so patient though, and just shakes his head to dry it, not unlike any canine wanting to shake wetness out his fur.

Madara turns back over his shoulder and Hashirama can see he is pleased with him wearing the clothes he had left for him. 

“I’m dressed like a king,” Hashirama grins, opening his arms wide and making a show of turning around. “And we are only going for a hunt.”

“The King of Fools,” Madara snorts, but Hashirama is a quick learner and can read him pretty well by now. He can’t hide that small, satisfied smile in the corners of his mouth.

Hunting doesn’t quite go according to plan. Hashirama suspects they would have been better off with setting traps than him trying to shoot down a rabbit with the bow and arrows he made. Maybe he would still succeed, if Madara wouldn’t suddenly shift into the form of a fox and chase after their prey. 

Hashirama has seen him as a boy and as a man, but never as the Kitsune he is. It’s nothing like the giant beast that pushed him down in the mud, the one with the massive paw next to his head and hot breath on his nape, able to tear him apart if he wished. It’s a sleek, black fox that suddenly dashes after the rabbit. Hashirama yelps in surprise, effectively alerting the prey of their approach, then slips on an icy patch of snow and falls onto his arse. 

Madara returns to him, growling and yipping in frustration and he can’t help it, he bursts out in a laugh. The fox bites down on his overcoat, tugging on it with violent shakes of his head. Hashirama raises him up, enjoying the thick, long fur under his fingers. He lays back in the snow, with the angry fox clutched to his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, the effect somewhat ruined by the laughter that still bubbles up in him. “I was taken by surprise.”

The fox twists in his arms and the next instant it’s the heavier frame of a man pushing Hashirama down. He looks unamused.

“Where’s my dinner, Hashirama?” he pokes him on the chest. “I wanted a tender rabbit, but I’m stuck with a sturdy human instead.”

“We have rice and dried mushrooms,” he offers hopefully. Madara, as typical of his kind, favours Inari-zushi, but making fried tofu pouches are far beyond their reach, both as they don’t have tofu and because Hashirama has very limited cooking skills. There are a lot of things Madara can magically make to appear, but food doesn’t seem to be one of them.

“Rice and mushroom,” the Kitsune scoffs. “I wanted meat.”

“Have my left arm then,” Hashirama offers the limb, dramatically covering his eyes with his other hand. “It’s nothing but skin, bones and sinew after this winter, but… go on. Take a bite.”

Madara huffs as he takes the offered hand, pushing Hashirama’s sleeve up, to touch naked skin. His fingers are light and so are his lips when he places a gentle kiss on the man’s wrist.

“Ouch!” Hashirama’s eyes snap open when pointy teeth suddenly sink into his skin. Madara grins around the wrist that he has between his canines.

“Tastes better than expected,” he says with his mouth full. Laughing, Hashirama tackles him and they roll around in the snow, wrestling like kids. They catch absolutely nothing that day, but Madara eats the rice and mushrooms without complaining when Hashirama serves them in the afternoon. 

***

“You asked me if I remember our meetings the same way as you do,” Madara says. Hashirama wants to turn around in bed to look at him, but he holds him steady. Hashirama doesn’t force it - he has noticed that Madara finds it easier to share stories of his life if he doesn’t feel Hashirama’s eyes on him.

“I could never answer myself why I found you to be different. I met human children before - they never interested me the slightest. You were crying that day, having lost a brother. I guess I could relate.

You spoke of your determination, your dreams and I thought - here’s someone, from another world, and yet, I can understand him better than I can my own brother. 

It scared me. I felt I was betraying Izuna. I wanted to stay with you, rather than to return to him.

You said you wanted to build a village, a place we could live together. I knew that to be an impossible dream - yet I wanted it, too. But where could a fox and a human live together? It was an absurd thought of a silly, mortal child. I still wised it could come true.”

“A village is just rows of houses,” Hashirama says quietly. “I want to stay wherever you are. My home is where you are. What others say - it matters none at all.”

“You are still so naive, Hashirama. What if I’ll stay here forever, in this forest? You will miss your friends, your family, your kin.”

“Then I’ll stay here with you. I’m not as ignorant as you think I am. I know everything comes with a price. I just don’t find any price too high to pay if I can be with you.”

“What if I want to roam the world again, to look for Izuna?”

“I have already said I’ll go with you and help. I have travelled the lands myself. I certainly wouldn’t mind doing it on your side.”

***

When the weather is charitable enough, they spar. As Hashirama learns, fighting him is one of Madara’s favourite pastimes. He claims only Hashirama has ever been strong enough to prove any kind of a challenge. He must admit, he is flattered. He might be bruised the next day, but he preens under Madara’s attention.

“Let’s dance, Hashirama,” he will say, grabbing his gunbai, his scythe or both, and tilt his head towards the door. He always holds back from wounding Hashirama seriously, but he enjoys giving him a hard time. Hashirama makes the mistake of not giving his best exactly once. Madara is furious with him for ruining his fun. He accuses him of not honouring their fight, or not caring enough about him to try to overpower him.

Hashirama wins most of their fights. It seems to fuel Madara’s determination to get stronger even further, he comes up with new tactics of attack the next time they clash. 

Nobody before, be it Yōkai or man, has given such a hard time to Hashirama before. Madara confesses he is the first person to win over him. 

“Don’t let that go to your head,” he warns when Hashirama grins, pleased with himself. “You just make up in power what you lack in mind. But I have to admit, it’s quite an admirable power - for a mere mortal.”

It obviously excites him. Hashirama does his best to end their clashes with Madara on his back in the snow. That way he can straddle him, push him down and feel his hardness under his light clothes. 

They make it back to the cabin most of the time, before they shed their garbs, but not always. Sometimes they fill the winter silence of the forest not only with the clash of weapons but gasps of pleasure as well. 

Not surprisingly their sparring sessions become not only Madara’s preferred pastime, but Hashirama’s favourite way of exercise as well. 

***

Madara eyes the little phial of oil dubiously.

“What do you want me to do with this?”

“I want you to use it on me. To, ahh,” considering they have been sharing bed for a while now, Hashirama finds it annoying how he still blushes as he tries to explain. “To open me up. So you can - get inside me.”

Madara looks surprised.

“You didn’t say you want that,” he says. “You seemed quite happy with what we normally do.”

“I am! I’m more than happy, it’s wonderful Madara, but I… want to feel you this way as well. The oil is to help that.”

“We won’t need it, Hashirama. I can ensure everything just goes smoothly. There’s no need for the mess and the pain.”

“Can we do it the human way, this time?” Hashirama asks quietly. “It’s messy I know, and yes, it will be a bit painful, but I want that as well. I want to feel you for every inch. I want it to ache afterwards, so I will remember what we did every time I sit down.”

“You are a strange one,” Madara’s face is impassive, but his nostrils dilate, and his eyes are darker than ever. Hashirama, becoming quite an expert in reading him, can tell he is turned on. He smiles. 

“Maybe I am,” he admits, “but there are a lot of things I want to try out with you. This is on the top of the list.” 

“I notice how you are still dressed,” Madara says and he doesn’t manage to keep his voice even. Hashirama’s smile widens into a grin as he quickly sheds his clothes. He gets down on his hands and knees on the futon. Madara kneels behind him, caressing his back and his buttocks. “Foolish human,” he murmurs fondly.

The oil does get everywhere, dripping down on Hashirama’s thighs, onto the covers, but most still ends up on Madara’s slender fingers. He works Hashirama patiently, opening him up. He doesn’t let himself be urged even when Hashirama begs him to hurry up, swears he is ready to take him. By the time he removes his fingers from Hashirama’s relaxed hole, the Hunter’s cock is heavy and dripping, adding to the mess on the bed. He himself is a wreck, a bundle of nerves, gasping with the briefest of touch. The sharp ball of need that gathered in the pit of his stomach threatens to explode. 

“Madara, please,” he pants. “I need you in me, don’t be so cruel. I am ready. I was ready eons ago.”

“But then I wouldn’t hear you beg,” Madara sounds breathless as well. “And you do it so beautifully.”

Despite his words he pushes into him, slowly and carefully. There’s no real ache as Hashirama finds, just a bit of a burn and discomfort. He breathes in deeply, relaxing his muscles. He feels full, connected to Madara this way and it’s overwhelming a bit. 

Madara pets his hair, whispers soft little nothings to him. Hashirama pushes back on his cock experimentally, feeling he can take him without too much resistance. Madara pulls out halfway and pushes back in, changes his angle slightly and does it again. Hashirama’s breath catch.

“My god, Madara, do that again.”

In no time his lover is fucking him in earnest. Hashirama pillows his forehead on his folded arms, braces himself against the bed and takes the hard thrusts, demanding more, telling Madara how much he needs him, how much he wants him, how much he loves him. 

Madara leans over him, one hand holding his hip in a bruising grip, the other wrapping a handful of Hashirama’s hair around his fist. He is not pulling on it, just holding him steadily, as he takes his pleasure. 

“Hashirama, I need you to come for me,” he urges. “Come before I do,” he commands or pleads, Hashirama doesn’t know or care. He pushes his weight against one shoulder, so he can free up an arm to reach under himself. A few strokes on his cock, Madara hammering away at that wonderful spot inside him, and he is coming, moaning his lover’s name.

Madara holds him in place, which is the only reason he doesn’t collapse on the bed, the puddle of oil and cum under him be damned. 

“Hashirama, I…” Madara gasps, but then falls silent, choking on a moan as his orgasm shakes him.

Later, when they found the strength to clean up and cuddle close under the cover, he kisses Hashirama’s nape softly.

“I love you,” he whispers. 

***

Hashirama has always hated winter, but he doesn’t want this one to ever end. Of course, the change of seasons can’t care less for his wants.

Spring arrives with sunshine and mild weather. The snow melts into little streams that grow and take on speed as they run down on the side of the hill. They all miraculously avoid their hut, which continues to stand on a dry patch of earth. 

When the paths dry up enough for him to brave them, Hashirama goes down to Uzushiogakure to fill up their supplies. Once again, he causes a bit of a ruckus - the villagers were convinced he was eaten, or the very least bewitched forever by Yōkai.

Mito-san looks at him critically.

“You don’t look like someone who spent the whole winter alone on the hill,” she states dryly. “Well, just look at you, you have even put on some weight. And these clothes - not something you expect to see on a mountain hermit.”

“I haven’t been spending the winter alone,” Hashirama confesses and he can’t help but smile. 

“Lecturing you on the dangers of being a Yōkai’s lover would be wasted on you, I assume?”

“I’m afraid it would be indeed, Mito-san. But don’t worry for me. I’m good. I’ve never been better, in fact.”

He stays the night in the village, chatting with her long after night has fallen. Izumo-kun and Kotetsu-san come around later and insist he shares some sake with them. He has fun and it’s nice to be around people again, yet at the same time he can’t wait to be back with Madara.

His lover is sitting in front of their hut when he returns, watching the setting sun. Hashirama drops his bag, runs up to him and sweeps him in his arms.

“You big oaf,” he mutters, but doesn’t protest the rough treatment.

Hashirama offers the Inari-zushi he brought for him and watches him eat.

“You should come with me the next time,” he says. “It’s not the same when it’s no longer fresh.”

Madara chews carefully, not looking him in the eye.

“You can’t think that’s a good idea,” he says at last.

“I actually think it’s a brilliant idea,” Hashirama smiles softly. “Just think about it. The town isn’t too far away. I bet they will have festivals when the sakura trees bloom. You can dress us up in yukata and we can buy Kitsune masks, it will be fun. We can eat all the treats, drink too much sake and I can teach you all the indecent songs I know - you will be surprised how many I learned over the years. But you can just come with me to Uzushiogakure when I go to pick up some rice. It is a pleasant little village, I think you will like it. That way, you won’t just sit on our porch while I’m away, thinking I will never return.”

Madara glares at him. Hashirama smiles innocently. 

“You realise what people will say, don’t you?”

“Very few will realise you are not human, Madara. The Miko in the village, yes, but she already kind of knows about us. Otherwise, I’ll just try to keep my hands to myself when others can see, and we will be alright.”

“You make this sound so simple.”

“It _is_ simple, Madara. Trust me.”

“I have probably lost my mind, but I do, Hashirama, I do.”

***

Tobirama arrives early in the spring - he must have left home as soon as the roads became clear of the winter snow.

They are out the whole day, walking the forest with Madara, enjoying nature as it wakes from its winter slumber. When they return, the white-haired man is sitting in front of their hut, waiting for them.

Hashirama shouts in delighted surprise and runs to embrace his little brother. Tobirama pats him on the back awkwardly.

“Brother, so you _are_ alive. I can’t believe you have been gone the whole year. What on earth are you doing here, at all? Living here like some kind of recluse, with…” he falls silent as Madara steps up to them, his reddish eyes narrowing as he glares at him. Hashirama decides to pretend he doesn’t notice this.

“Madara, this is Tobirama, my brother. Tobirama, this is Madara. He is…”

“Yes,” Tobirama interrupts. “I can see what he is. The Miko in the village warned me, but I hoped she was wrong. Are you out of your bloody mind, Hashirama?”

***

Tobirama stays for a week. As happy as Hashirama is to see him again, he is relieved when he’s gone. There is no bloodshed at least, which is something, everything considered. 

Tobirama has eyes that see a bit too much, yet there are things he just doesn’t get. He is furious with Hashirama and he is worried for him. Hashirama understands him, of course, but…

“Tobirama,” he says quietly. It’s just the two of them - Madara has gone back to his den, rather than to stay in the little cabin with the brothers. He would be hard to blame. “I love him. He loves me as well. It’s no trickery, no deceit. I’m going to stay with him, no matter what.”

“You are crazy,” Tobirama sighs. They have been through this argument many times in the last days. Tobirama speaks about Hashirama’s obligations, the dangers Yōkai mean to humans, the magic Hashirama must have fallen under. Hashirama tries to explain about childhood meetings, fate and love. “What am I to say to father? He will go on about your responsibilities. He will consider you leaving a treachery, even if I don’t tell him why you have left. He expected you to take over the leadership of the clan in the next few years.”

“We both know you are a lot more suited for that role than I am,” Hashirama pats his arm. “I’m sorry about all this, but I would be grateful if you wouldn’t mention too much to the old man. The last thing I want is him sending Hunters after us.”

Tobirama glances away. He no longer seems furious, just tired and sad. Hashirama feels bad for him, but this is not something he will back down on. 

“Promise you will at least come to visit.”

“I can promise that,” Hashirama hugs his little brother, who grumbles under his breath about what an idiot he is, but hugs him back. 

***

When Tobirama leaves, Hashirama goes to Madara’s cave. He is not surprised when he doesn’t find the opening. He places his offering in the little shrine - he has to replace quite a few stones which have collapsed. He hasn’t been here for a while. He then sits down on his heels and stays there for a whole day, until Madara appears.

“Please, don’t be mad.” he pulls him close to kiss him. “Tobirama can be a bit difficult, but he means well. He is gone now. Please come back home with me.”

***

They visit the festival in the town when the cherry trees blossom. Hashirama sells some wooden figures he carved during the winter and buys Madara food, sake and the promised Kitsune mask. They watch the crowd, dressed in their best outfits, watch the children laughing and the fireworks when the evening sets.

They meet Izumo-kun and his friend. Kotetsu-san takes one look at them, the way they sit too close, the way Hashirama’s touches Madara’s hand when he wants to catch his attention and smirks knowingly. Hashirama, having had maybe more sake than what’s good for him, winks at him. Kotetsu-san laughs while Izumo-kun sputters on his drink.

“I liked them,” Madara says and he sounds surprised. “Simple people, but not bad ones.”

They spend the night in the wild. All the inns were full and Madara’s senses have been overloaded with all the smells and the sound of the festival. Hashirama quickly sobers up in the dark and silent of the night.

“We should come back for the autumn festival as well,” he offers. Madara nods thoughtfully, looking down at the mask he holds in his hand. 

“We can,” he says quietly.

***

The year passes in a daze, as if it's just a dream. Hashirama realises one day that winter is upon them, and how did that happen? They haven’t done more than a few short trips around settlements near the hill. They mostly spent their days walking in the forest, talking and enjoying each other's company. 

Is this the way time will flow for him now, he wonders. Yōkai aren’t bound by the same laws of time and space as a human and being continuously in the presence of one has an effect on his perception of the world. His whole life might pass in the same dream-like state without him paying it any mind. Will he wake up one day as an old man and wonder where the years have gone?

Hashirama finds that he doesn’t care.

“I was thinking about your brother,” Madara tells him one evening. A snowstorm is raging outside, but as usual, it doesn’t quite touch their hut. Hashirama looks at him in surprise.

“What about Tobirama?” he asks cautiously. So far, his brother’s visit wasn’t a topic they discussed. He knows it opened up scars in Madara, heightened his fear of Hashirama going away one day, whether by choice or being taken by force. 

“You promised him you will visit, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Hashirama confesses carefully.

“I was thinking that when we go, we could make a longer journey out of it. Visit a few foreign lands. See some remote places.”

Hashirama is silent as he takes his time, working through this statement. He is delighted that Madara would come with him. Delighted and worried - his whole clan is made of Hunters, and even though he is the strongest of them by far, walking into Senju territory with his Yōkai lover on his side might not be the safest idea. His unbreakable optimism wins in the end. It will be a challenging visit, but they can make it work if they really try. Tobirama already knows about them, and as unhappy as he obviously was with Madara, Hashirama knows he can count him as an ally.

“That will be great, I want to see the world with you. But I need to warn you - you will think my brother is a difficult man only until you meet my father. The old man is a real pain, you will see,” he grins at Madara, who smiles back.

“We will consider it practice, if we find Izuna.” He looks Hashirama in the eye, challenging him maybe to question him. Hashirama doesn’t. Madara’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “I want to look for him. I’m not sure if I can ever find him, but… I have to try. I think I can finally show him why it’s worth living in this world. I can show him what love and caring are, and that humans are worth our attention.”

Hashirama takes his hand and they sit by the fire in silence for a long while. 

“Let’s try to find him then, Madara,” he says at last. “There are many shrines, many forests, many dens across all these lands. We can leave him messages and ask both people and Yōkai if they have heard of him. I have managed to find you as well, after all.”

“By pure chance,” Madara points out. “Maybe you will bring me luck on this quest. But Hashirama - you have to understand that Izuna hates humans. If we find him, you will realise your brother isn’t a contender when it comes to being unpleasant, unfriendly and dangerous.”

“I’m sure he will like me! You will see, I will charm him in no time!”

“You are a… oh, never mind,” he says as Hashirama is laughing, pulling him close. He kisses the top of his head, letting love overflow in his heart. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Madara and looking for his hostile little brother doesn’t seem all that much for him.

***

They leave early in the spring. Hashirama looks back at their hut and knows that no matter when they will return, it will be waiting for them. It will always be their home. He smiles at Madara and takes his hand as they walk the path leading down the hill.

***

There is a tale you have likely heard if you travelled through Land of Fire. People will tell it anywhere from the border of Land of Grass to the remote Land of Whirlpools. It is about a Yōkai and a man who wandered the country, but as with most myths, it will vary depending who recounts it. Some will say the Yōkai was a powerful being who enslaved the man. Others will claim the exact opposite - that the mortal was a sage of mighty spiritual power and the Yōkai was his servant. Those of a more romantic heart will prefer the version that insists they travelled as equals, bonded by a deep sense of friendship and love. 

They all agree that these two beings brought peace and prosperity. They helped men in need, soothed disputes, placated Kami in unrest, chased away evil demons, making the land a safer and happier place to live.

Who could tell what has happened to them? They weren’t seen in such a long time, the man must have died of old age. Maybe the Yōkai continued to live on. Maybe he chose to follow his friend and flickered out of existence with him.

Myths aren’t rational. The story tellers you listen to will insist that there is a little house somewhere on a hill, hidden behind the leaves of an ancient forest. You can’t find this place on purpose, however you can happen on it by pure chance. If you do, you can still meet this man and the fox spirit, living there together, till the end of times.

  
  


**_FIN_ **


End file.
